


Long Day

by eat_a_friggin_snickers



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Post Episode: s02e12 A Tale of Two Stans, Pre-Weirdmageddon, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 13:37:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13881981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eat_a_friggin_snickers/pseuds/eat_a_friggin_snickers
Summary: Stan honestly wonders why his brother isn't dead already with how little sleep he's got.-  -  -Inspired by a comic on Tumblr that I will gladly credit properly once I find it again haha-  -  -The original artist deleted their Tumblr, but a reblog of the comic this is based on can be found here: https://fexalted.tumblr.com/post/164123404327Thank you @fex_libris for helping me find it!





	Long Day

Stanley stood in the doorway to the giftshop as the few straggling guests filed out to their cars. "Come again, folks! We put the 'fun' in No Refunds!" Watching the last car drive off he turned and stepped inside to start closing. He checked the register like every night, restocked the shelves, gave Soos -who was mopping the guest bathroom- the key and told him to lock up on his way out.

Saying Stan wasn't tired was like saying Mabel didn't love her pig. The last few days had taken a large toll on him physically and emotionally, though if you asked he'd deny the second part. It had only been a couple days since he'd gotten his brother back after so long, and the process wasn't any kinder on him; running from government officials and local law enforcement, and getting tossed about by random gravity shifts. All for what? A punch in the face? Not even a single "thank you", is that so much to ask of someone he'd spent decades trying to retrieve so as to make ammends for what he'd done? Apparently so.

He trailed into the kitchen to grab what was left in the coffee pot and poured it into a mug to take to his room. Setting the empty pot into the sink, Stan swiped the paper from the counter and made way from the kitchen towards the living area. He flipped through the pages as he walked past his chair-

"Son of a b-!" Before he could get the rest of his swear out, he found himself on the floor, his coffee seeping into the carpet, for Pete's sake. Probably a good thing he didn't finish that sentence; kids were still awake and the whole shack wasn't sound proof after all.

"Potatoes and molasses! What the hell?" He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see that he'd tripped over Waddles yet again. Instead he found the snoring form of his twin. Stanford was sprwaled on the floor, passed out like one of those "Sims" characters Soos went on and on about, and Stan dropped his head with an exasperated sigh. As of late, his nerdy twin had taken up a curious sleep schedule. In short, Stanley couldn't recall a single moment since Ford had gotten back, where the man had been sleeping. "Nerd probably worked himself to exhaustion." He thought aloud. Deciding he'd rather Ford get an actual night's rest, Stan pulled himself off the ground ignoring the spilt coffee and ruined news paper for now, and picked up his brother.

"C'mon, Sixer," Stanford barely stirred other than a brief irregularity in his breathing. "Geez you're tired." As he carried his sleeping brother to the room his niece and neffew once fought over, Stanley could feel his back starting to ache with the extra strain. Damn, he was getting old. It felt somewhat familiar being in this situation again; it had been years since Stan had carried his brother to bed after passing out else where in the house. He'd wake up in the middle of the night and sometimes find the kid slumped over his desk or passed out on the floor with a book or pencil in his hand, after which he would help Ford to bed. That was a lifetime ago.

He reached the room and nudged the door open with his foot, nearly stumbling to the old couch by the window. After laying Ford down on the cushions he grabbed a blanket and tossed it haphazardly over the sleeping man. A beat passed after he flipped the light off and he straightened the blanket out. Didn't want Poindexter getting chilly.

But you didn't hear that from Stanley.


End file.
